The other day, a friend of mine, who has stuff on her mind, said she would go by herself to a whale watch on Sunday. It will revive my connection to the universe, she texted. I can relate.
My ideal summer includes slow mornings, swims, walks, talks and reads. To that slate of activities, this year I added two weddings. Lots of fun, but. The labor intensive getting ready tasks can be a lot: shopping, packing, traveling - all the emotional intensity. There are limits to how long I can remain saturated by scintillation - I become a toddler again needing quiet time. Thankfully, the fog of overactivity has begun to lift and I’ve lately returned to woods walking - a favorite way for me to get myself back.
Whenever I begin again after a lapse of days, the body complains. I start slowly, one heavy foot in front of the other. The route I chose the other day led to abandoned cranberry bogs. Gone are the years when I’d see the old box rakes and wooden crates once used to harvest berries. Now the bogs are unrecognizable, clogged full of scrubby shrubs and pine. The loss makes me feel hollow somehow. More tired.
That day, I walked on. Everywhere around here random paths offer respite and without thinking, I tucked myself below a few low hanging branches on the edge of the wood and decided to sit. At first, I found myself distracted by bills, upcoming plans, errands, and stuff to do around the house. I brooded on this worry, that concern. But, as I continued to sit, I got distracted by the sweet smell of pine needles, my eyes relaxed and followed the tangle of vines and broken branches. I’d startle at the odd crackle that interrupted the quiet, but finally just leaned back up against a mossy bank content to be alone in my little woodland grotto. For about thirty minutes I sat and never once did I peek at my phone.
Down-shifting. Recentering. Grounding. Call it what you will. It seems I’m never as far off from center as I think I am, but when I am - when I’m overworked, overbooked, overtired - I either go numb or get jazzed. After sitting in that quiet space doing nothing for a little while, I was glad I took my nature nap.
Rested, I was ready to keep walking and made my way to another favorite stopping place, the ruins of an abandoned house. When I first found it 45 years ago or so, it still stood intact by the woods just a few hundred feet from a small lake. Over the decades, I’ve watched the roof, walls and windows disappear. These days only the steps and chimney stand and the remains of a stone foundation. Otherwise trees grow up where the house used to be. I love going there, and always wonder about its people.
This time, as I studied the foundation, I saw that a good sized porch must have spanned the width of the house. And, as I rested in the sun on the remains of the steps, I looked out at the shore where lily pads mapped a world of delight. What a nice spot for a porch! I thought as I stood up relaxed and ready for home.
I have no doubt, it’s the rabbit's ability to loaf on all fours that gives them their peppy hop.
Nice piece. I walked with you if but from afar. It was leisurely; slow with several pauses; studies. It was appreciative of nature -- and old man-made stuff, just the kind of stroll I enjoy doing, alone. Perhaps a chosen direction but varying destination; one through a high pine needle laden cathedral that glows at midday; another through a dense dark spruce grove with sudden spatial openings where sunlight penetrates but no grass grows of dead tree boughs that splinter under boot-fall sort of suggesting a story only nature knows; then, as I push through to its raking exterior there's, a new environment completely. I can standstill for many minutes; listening; taking the outside in. Another, without realization, would alter my experience there with their urgency of movement however subtle; it just not the same. Allow me to be in my own unanswerable thought for an evening then head home.
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